It Ends Tonight
by CrystallineSolid
Summary: After a terrible incident at a crime scene one night, Nick must help Greg stay on his feet. But, in the aftermath of that night, Nick realizes that he's the one who's falling. Now it's up to Greg to help him accept it. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

Title: It Ends Tonight

Summary: One night changes everything for Greg and Nick as every hidden emotion comes out with terrifying results.

Genre: Drama/Romance

Warning: Slash. Some swearing.

Rating: M for adult content and use of profanity.

Timeline: Post season 10. No major spoilers, but there might be a few.

Pairing: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes (The Love)

Disclaimer: Don't own CSI. *sigh*

Author's Note: Hey guys! I haven't written a fan-fiction in a long time, and then this just came to me. Enjoy =)

* * *

_Your subtleties  
They strangle me  
I can't explain myself at all  
And all the wants  
And all the needs  
Well I don't want to need at all_

_-_It Ends Tonight, The All-American Rejects

* * *

Greg and Nick sat alone in the locker room. Their legs straddled the bench, and they were so close that they Nick could feel Greg's breath on his face.

Greg shivered as he looked into Nick's eyes, their faces inches apart. A tension that had been building in Greg's spine since that night was now threatening to overpower him. He curled his hands around the bench underneath him, and his nails dug into the hard wood, as he shook with the need to reach out and touch the man sitting next to him.

Nick watched as Greg visibly shook in front of him. He felt a familiar tug at his heart, and reached out to his vulnerable and emotionally strung out friend. He instinctively brushed his hand across the younger man's cheek, leaving it to rest at his neck. Greg released a strangled moan, and looked deep into Nick's eyes. Nick swallowed hard, his whole body aching with longing, and his head spinning as he looked into Greg's eyes—confusion, fear, guilt, lust. He reached up with his other hand and brushed away strands of hair from Greg's sweaty forehead. He licked his lips, and trailed his thumb down Greg's nose, feeling him shiver at his touch. He looked Greg right in the eye, a wave of pleasure rushing through him as he watched Greg lose control.

Nick's other hand trailed down Greg's shoulder and came to rest at his elbow, and Greg gasped loudly, his body shaking violently as he tightened his grip on the bench below him, as if to remind himself that it was still there, because he was falling...

To Greg's horror, he let out a sob, the events of that night weighing down on him, and closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears.

"Hey," whispered Nick, his thumb wiping away Greg's tears, "Your okay now, G. Everything's okay now."

Greg raised a shaky hand and gripped Nick shoulder tightly, his nails digging into his neck. His chest constricted, and he struggled to breathe. He swayed slightly as he lifted up his other hand and traced Nick's lips. Breaking eye contact, Greg looked down at Nick's lips, and licked his own. He closed his eyes—he was losing control—and leaned forward...

Beep!

Nick's eyes shot open. He stared at Greg and swallowed audibly. Suddenly all physical contact was gone, and Nick's skin burned where Greg's nails had dug into his skin. He backed away, and fumbled with his pager. Suddenly unable to look Greg in the eye, he stared at the ground.

"It's Catherine. She needs me in her office," Nick mumbled.

Nick forced himself to stand and back away. He didn't dare look up at Greg again, or he'd be lost for sure—lost in Greg. Just as he reached the door, he felt a warm hand around his wrist. A shiver ran up his spine, and despite the voice in his head telling him not to, he turned around.

Greg's lips crashed against Nick's as he slammed him against the closed door. He ran his hands up Nick's chest, pushing up his black T-Shirt, and indulging in the soft skin under his hands and the warm tongue in his mouth. Nick ran his fingers through Greg's hair, grabbing it in his fist. He swung his leg around Greg's calves and pulled him closer. Greg felt his stress leave him as Nick pressed his entire body against his, and kissed him with more ferocity and passion than he could handle.

When Greg finally pulled away, Nick's entire body ached with lust. He wanted—needed—more, and that scared him. Looking deep into Greg's eyes, and hoping they conveyed that that was the best thing he had ever done, he turned the doorknob behind him and disappeared down the hall.

Greg collapsed against the doorframe and watched Nick retreat through the crowd. He stepped back into the locker room and closed the door, before sliding down it. With a thousand thoughts swirling around in his head, he closed his eyes and thought back to the night that started everything.

**One Week Ago**

"_Freeze!"_

_And that's exactly what Greg did. His entire body tensed up, and for a few seconds his mind went blank. His camera slipped from his hands, and the sound of it hitting the ground jarred him from his state of shock. Holding his shaking hands above his head, he turned around slowly, and was not surprised to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun._

_"Hey! I thought I told you to freeze!"_

_"I'm thirty-four years old," started Greg, trying to steady his voice, "My mother's name is Olivia. My dad died when I was eighteen. His name was Daniel. I'm an only child, so if you shoot-"_

_"Shut up!" the assailant hissed._

_"If you shoot me, my mum will go crazy. And my team—my friends—they'll track you down. Killing a CSI, that's not a good idea. You don't wanna—" _

_"I said shut the fuck up!" the man screamed, cocking the gun._

_Greg's heart stopped when he heard the ping of the gunshot. He blinked back tears of relief when he realized that the suspect hadn't shot at him. He fought back panic when he realized that the assailant was using a silencer, and that no one would hear the gunshot. He frowned in confusion when he saw the bullet hole in the cupboard door._

_Greg's stomach dropped when he heard a yelp from inside the cupboard._

_"There's a kid in there. A fucking teenager!" growled the assailant. He kicked the cupboard open to reveal a small boy, not older than fifteen, huddled in the corner of the cupboard._

_The suspect cocked the gun and pointed it at the boy, "One shot, and he's dead. So shut the hell up, and let me think, goddamn it!"_

_Greg nodded slowly, not daring to say another word._

_"You got a gun?"_

_Greg shook his head._

_"You lyin' to me, kid? Do I need to come over there and check?"_

_Of course Greg was lying to him. Every inch of instinct that he had was telling him to just tell him the truth, but he needed the perpetrator to come frisk him. Anything to get him away from that poor kid._

_The suspect trained the gun on Greg and walked towards him. Greg grimaced as the man placed his palm flat on Greg's chest and trailed it down his torso slowly. He shoved the gun against Greg's temple, and reached into his holster with the other hand. Greg's chest constricted with fear when the assailant pulled out the gun from his holster. The suspect grit his teeth in anger, and pistol-whipped Greg. His head whipped to one side, and he watched with blurry eyes as the suspect's gun fell to the floor and slid under the bed._

_The suspect cocked Greg's gun and strode towards the cupboard, his face red with anger. Greg's head was spinning and he stepped towards the bed, trying to get the gun, and tripped and fell flat on his face._

_"This is what happens when you lie to me, you son-of-a-bitch!"_

_Greg looked up from the floor, watching in horror as the assailant pulled the teenage boy out of the cupboard and tossed him on the floor. Placing a heavy boot on the boy's chest, he pointed Greg's gun at his head._

_"This is your goddamn fault," the suspect growled to Greg._

_Greg forced himself to stand and threw himself on the suspect, just as he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed in Greg's head, and it vaguely registered to him that the cops outside would have heard the shot._

_Greg wrestled with the suspect for a while, trying to get the gun away from him. He stopped moving when he heard the gunshot, and his head spun. His chest felt heavy, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. He licked his lips, and panicked when he tasted blood. He fell to the floor, and it took a moment to register that he hadn't been shot. He crawled out from underneath the dead assailant, and looked down in horror at his bloodstained light blue T-shirt._

_He dropped the gun and crawled towards the bleeding boy lying on the floor. He pressed his fingers to the gunshot wound in the boy's neck. The teenager let out a strangled sob, and reached up to grab hold of Greg's sleeve, pulling him forward, weakly._

_"So c-c-old," the boy whispered._

_"I know. I know..." whispered Greg, running his fingers through the kid's floppy blond hair, as he pulled him into his lap. Greg yanked off his jacket and laid it gently over the boy._

_"I-it hurts," whimpered the young boy._

_Greg looked distraughtly at his fingers pressed against the boy's neck. Blood was still pouring out from between Greg's fingers, so he pulled off his shirt and pressed it against the wound._

_"Tell Mum-" the boy coughed weakly, blood flecking his lips. "Tell Mum I got a D in Math."_

_Another cough wracked his body, and he closed his eyes, his breath loud and shallow._

_"No," Greg's voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears, "No, you tell her yourself. I'm going to help you. You're not gonna die...You can't die...Don't die, goddamn it!"_

_"Sanders!" Brass entered the room, his gun drawn. "What the hell happened here, Greg?" he exclaimed when he saw the younger man, shirtless and bent over a dead body. "Greg!"_

"Greg!"

Greg started and scrambled to his feet. He yanked open the locker room door to find Ray Langston looking over him curiously.

"Hey Ray," he replied breathlessly.

"I think we managed to identify the victim," Langston replied, looking over the disheveled CSI skeptically.

"Yeah? Did you call his parents? The boy couldn't have been a day over fifteen!"

Langston frowned. "Greg, the victim was a seventy-two-year-old female."

* * *

Review please. I don't have a beta (I'm looking for one though) so all mistakes are mine.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: It Ends Tonight

Summary: After a terrible incident at a crime scene one night, Nick must help Greg stay on his feet. But, in the aftermath of that night, Nick realizes that he's the one who's falling. Now it's up to Greg to help him accept it.

Genre: Drama/Romance

Warning: Slash. Some swearing.

Rating: M for adult content and use of profanity.

Timeline: Post season 10. No major spoilers, but there might be a few.

Pairing: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes (The Love)

Disclaimer: Don't own CSI. *sigh*

Author's Note: Hello everyone =) I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, but I promise, I haven't abandoned this! This is chapter two, and hopefully chapter 3 is on its way. Thank you to _lys_bliss _on LJ for the editing, and thank you _CMAli 1, HPmadness12, hotflower901, Dark Angel Kira, ktmfanfic, janet1982, QueenOfTheUniverse, Rainack_ and _katwinchester_ for your lovely reviews for the first chapter. I know it's been a while, but I really hope you guys are still keeping up with this story. Anywho, here it is, chapter two! (Ha. That rhymes.)_  
_

* * *

"You rang?"

Catherine looked up to see Nick standing in the office doorway, his pager in hand. Nick's face was flushed and his hair ruffled. "Catherine?" Nick asked breathlessly.

"So who's the lucky girl, Nicky?" teased Catherine, a smile spreading slowly across her face. It was very obvious that Nick was getting some much needed action, and Catherine was happy for him. Not that that would stop her from teasing him about it.

"Huh?" he questioned, looking genuinely confused. "What are you...? Oh. Oh God," realization set in and Nick collapsed into the chair across from Catherine's desk. He lifted a hand to his mouth and inhaled sharply, looking like he was going to be sick. "Shit."

"Nick, are you okay?" Catherine frowned, concern flooding her. The despair etched into Nick's features was disconcerting, and she hoped that Nick would talk to her about whatever was bothering him.

"Y-yeah," he said quickly, raking his hand through his hair, and forcing a smile. "I'm fine." _No. No, I'm not fine. I'm far from it. Jesus, I just made out with Greg fucking Sanders: a colleague, a friend. And a man. But I'm not gay. I'm not-_

"Nick?"

"I'm fine," he said irritably. He straightened up and tried to compose himself, hoping that Catherine would just drop it.

"Okay," she said, even though she wasn't at all convinced. "Just...take care of yourself, okay?" Catherine was still concerned, but she knew that Nick needed his space. She just hoped he would be able to handle this himself.

She paused, and bit her lip. "How's Greg?"

Nick faltered, his heart thumping wildly and his words stumbling over each other. "W-what about Greg?" he asked, flustered. Did Catherine know what was going on? "H-how should I know how he is?"

"Because you're his friend?" Catherine said with a slight jerk of her head, her eyebrows raised skeptically.

Nick took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Because you're his _friend_, she had said, nothing more. She didn't suspect anything. Jesus. "Yeah-yeah he's... doing better. Look," he said gritting his teeth, and changing the subject. "if this is why you paged me-"

"I have a new assignment for you," said Catherine bemusedly . She handed Nick a slip of paper and waited a moment in case Nick had any questions.

"419 in Summerlin?" mused Nick with a frown. "Strange. That's a pretty safe neighbourhood."

"Crime of passion, maybe?" Catherine brainstormed. "You won't know until you get there, Mister Crime Scene Investigator," she joked.

"I hear ya," Nick said distractedly. He looked down at the assignment slip once more, as though it held all the answers. Catherine could tell he was trying hard to concentrate on work even though it was painfully obvious that there was something else on his mind. She sighed; there was no therapy like work.

* * *

Nick parked across the street from the crime scene and just sat in the car for a moment, knowing it would be probably be his last carefree moment until his shift ended. If he could even call it carefree. He was still plagued by what had happened earlier in the locker room.

It wasn't like he had never made out with a man before. He had had many hot and heavy make out scenes with guys in high school and college, but he had never kissed a man like _that_ before; never with such ferocity and passion and raw emotion. He had never felt such desperation and longing, and truth be told, it scared him.

And then there was Greg. Sweet, beautiful and so fucking vulnerable. Nick couldn't shake the feeling that he was taking advantage of Greg's distraught condition. Would Greg still have kissed him if that kid hadn't died? He just couldn't be sure, and it was killing him. He felt wrong, like scum. He had always looked down on guys who took advantage of intoxicated or depressed chicks. And yet, now he felt like he was doing practically the same thing. Greg was hurting, and had sought comfort from Nick; and he had given it to him without thinking about whether Greg had really wanted it.

And then there was the fact that, even though he wanted to kiss Greg again and again, they worked together. And that never ended well. It was terrifying that he could feel so deeply and violently for Greg, especially if he could lose Greg at any time on the job. It sounded selfish as hell, but he couldn't let himself care for Greg if he was putting himself in danger's way every night. He wouldn't let himself love Greg, he simply couldn't, even if Greg was so irresistible, with his perfectly straight nose, and his cinnamon breath, and his chiseled cheekbones, and those wonderful, wonderful lips that we just so—

Nick jumped when a fist rapped on his window, and he looked up at Detective Brass in alarm. He grit his teeth and clenched his fists, inwardly chastising himself for being so jumpy.

He slipped out of the car, kit in hand. With a nod to Brass, he swept his gaze over the crime scene. A small, townhouse was ringed by crime scene tap, and outside of the tape was a large buzzing crowd of people wanting to know what had happened. Even after fourteen years on the job, Nick didn't quite understand what morbid curiously people had for death, when all he wanted to do was escape from it.

"Witness is over there," said Brass, pointed to a young man seated in the back of an ambulance, a light blue blanket covering his hunched shoulders. Brass continued to fill him in, but Nick found his attention waning. He just couldn't take his eyes off that young man, sitting in the ambulance, alone, hurt, and scared. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. It was all too familiar; too tangible. He needed it to all go away.

_He needed it to all go away; all of it: the small townhouse, once a home and now a crime scene, the ambulance parked across the street, in it a man hunched painfully. Not just a man, Greg._

_He needed it to all go away._

_"What have we got?" asked Nick approaching Brass. _Diplomatic Stokes, _he told himself,_ you gotta stay diplomatic._ But his hands shook._

_"Don't know the whole story yet," replied Brass coolly, as they walked towards the scene, and the ambulance nearby. "I don't really think Greg's in any state to give us his statement."_

_Nick looked up in horror and Brass rushed to clarify. "He's not hurt. I mean, he's got a nasty shiner, but he's going to be okay. It's just..." Brass stopped walking and stepped in front of Nick before he could reach the ambulance. "When I heard the gunshots, I found Sander shirtless and covered in blood, clinging to this kid's body like his life depended on it. Nick, you're not going to like what you see." said Brass, with a look of subtle and yet unmistakable concern._

_"I have to see him," demanded Nick, his determination clear on his face._

_"I know," said Brass calmly. He was very aware of the family-like atmosphere of the CSI team. He admired it really, and was still grateful for the support they had given him when he was shot. And he knew that the team, especially Nick, were even more protective of Greg, as he was the youngest. Brass stepped back and let Nick pass._

_"Nick!" called Brass, and when the CSI turned around, he stared pointedly at Nick's CSI kit. Nick nodded in understanding._

_Yeah, he got it. He still had a scene to process, even if all he really wanted to do was stay with Greg until everything was okay again. He still had work to do. And he would do his work damn well, even if he just wanted to hold Greg until everything was okay._

"Is everything okay, Nick?" came Brass's voice, laced with sarcasm.

Nick looked at Brass blankly, and cursed when he realized he had missed Brass' entire briefing on the case. And yet, his attention was once again diminishing as his gaze fell upon the witness sitting in the ambulance.

"Nick, the scene?"

"Umm... yeah," said Nick distractedly. "I'm just gonna...uh... talk to that guy," he said vaguely, making his way towards the hunched figure in the back of the ambulance.

"Nick! What the hell?" shouted Brass indignantly, as Nick walked away from him. "Interviewing witnesses is _my_ job!"

Nick ignored him and jogged up to the witness. Although he knew it wasn't really possible, he still half-expected Greg to look up at him when he called out a breathless greeting to the witness. A stranger's icy blue gaze met his instead of Greg's warm brown one, and Nick wasn't sure what he wanted.

* * *

Greg rubbed his eyes, and tried to focus on the crime scene photos spread out on the table in front of him. But pictures of old, dead women, and pill bottles of Paracetamol and Digitalis all seemed to swim around in his head. His head was pounding, and his thoughts kept returning to Nick. How could he have been so stupid? He was sure that Nick had wanted what he did, but then he had bolted out of the locker room like Greg was diseased? Greg knew what he wanted, that kiss had made everything clear to him. All he wanted was Nick. And he had been sure that Nick wanted him too, but now he knew the truth: that Nick was straight, and that he probably hated Greg's guts.

Greg groaned and his head dropped down onto the table with a dull thud. His thoughts had once again sidetracked; but he could still taste Nick's minty breath, and he could still smell Nick's cologne, and how could he possibly stop thinking about him?

"Greg?" Ray's voice broke him out of his musings. "Maybe you should go home... I can finish up here without you."

Greg sighed angrily, and cursed under his breath. For the past week the entire team had been treading on eggshells around him, and frankly, he was sick of it. But then again, he knew he hadn't really been himself since that night. And this weird sexual tension with Nick wasn't making things any better. He wasn't sleeping, he was barely eating, and now he might have lost his best friend in the world.

His breath hitched at the thought of losing Nick forever, and then there was that fucking throbbing in his head that seemed to be permanent. Maybe Ray was right; maybe it was time for him to call it a day. Greg just looked up at Ray helplessly; he didn't want to just call quits, and yet, more than anything, he just wanted to go home and get some sleep (if that was even possible anymore).

Ray seemed to understand what Greg was trying to convey. He smiled warmly, and reassured Greg. "Don't worry. I'll tell Catherine you weren't feeling well. She won't mind."

Greg nodded resignedly, and gathered his things. He held his books and folders up to his chest almost protectively as he hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. He was wussing out again. It was just the ego boost he needed.

"Greg!" Ray called out hesitantly. Greg stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn around. "You've only been back at work for a few days since the accident. It's okay to feel a little out of it."

"Yeah, it's only been a few days since I got back from a three days leave even though I wasn't even injured," responded Greg dryly. He rubbed at the yellowish skin around his left eye, the fading bruise being the only temporary scar from that night. Only physical scar, that is. "And now I can't do my job—" he barked out a laugh, "but hey, it's okay to be a little out of it!"

Ray bit his lip as Greg made his way out of the layout room. Ray hadn't worked with Greg for very long, and he hadn't had any heart-to-hearts with him, really. The younger man had really just been a bundle of humour, who could be dead serious when he needed to be. Word around the water cooler was that Greg had been through some real shit. When Ray had heard about the lab explosion and beating, he had been beyond shocked, because Greg never really let on that anything that terrible had happened to him. When Ray had mentioned them in passing to Nick, they younger man had adamantly insisted that Greg had handled it all very well. Nick had said that while Greg might over-share where his family or romantic life was concerned, he was always very private about his problems. And, while Ray could see in Greg's eyes that what had happened to him in the past had changed him, Greg was always ready with a laugh, and seemed to have put it all out of his mind. But now Greg was a changed person. His pain was so fresh, and so tangible, that Ray was beginning to wonder what Nick had meant when he said that Greg handled his problems well.

Ray leaned back against the layout room table, and stared at the spot where Greg had been a moment ago. He knew that there was nothing he could do to make Greg feel any better; they just didn't have that kind of relationship. It was turning out to be one of those rare days when Ray was acutely aware of how close the years old team had been before he joined CSI; one of those days when he felt like he would always be the new guy.

* * *

Greg groaned and let his head fall against the row of lockers with a soft thud. He had been all set to go home when he had realized that he didn't have a home to go to. He had been staying at Nick's house for the last week, and it felt more like a home than his apartment did. In fact, he couldn't even imagine going back to his cold, lonely apartment when Nick's townhouse was so warm and inviting, and so full of... Nick.

Greg's chest tightened uncomfortably. Ever since he had met Nick eleven years ago he had felt slightly attracted to him. It was just a quiet acknowledgment of his Texan charm. It was nothing serious; not a crush; not love. But since the 'accident', as they had come to call it, Greg began to harbour feelings for Nick that were definitely more than an infatuation. The very fact that the only time when Greg felt truly safe was when he was with Nick, in Nick's house, was enough to imply that they were more than just friends. And then there was that kiss...

But what if Nick didn't want Greg to live with him anymore? What if Nick hated him? Or never spoke to him again? What would Greg do then?

He just didn't know what to do. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. All he knew was that when he was with Nick he felt safe, like men with guns and fifteen-year-old boys covered in blood couldn't haunt him. All he knew was that he couldn't go back to his apartment—alone, scared, guilty, and now longing to kiss Nick again and again and again.

Kissing Nick was probably the best thing he had done all week, and no matter what the repercussions were, he didn't regret it. And Nick had kissed him back, that he was sure of.

Greg sighed and grabbed his backpack from his locker. He made his way out of the lab, gritted his teeth, got into his old Jetta, and drove over to Nick's townhouse.

_Greg got out of his old Jetta and stepped in front of Nick's townhouse. He was so exhausted that he was surprised he had even made it to Nick's house safely. He didn't even know why he had driven here, but he had to get out of his apartment. Now, before he could change his mind, he knocked on Nick's front door._

_Greg could hear shuffling on the other side of the door, and then it was being yanked open. He was greeted by the sight of Nick in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Greg instantly regretted disturbing Nick's sleep._

_"Greg?" he said, shocked out of his sleepiness._

_Suddenly embarrassed, Greg took a hesitant step back, and tripped over the single step that led to Nick's house. Nick's hand shot out and caught Greg at the elbow, steadying the younger man._

_'I-I should go," mumbled Greg, trying to pull away from Nick's grasp._

_"No," Nick interjected. "No, come in." He practically dragged Greg into the house, and led the jittery man over to the couch. Nick sat down on the coffee table across from the couch, and leaned forwards, placing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He watched Greg silently, but the younger man wouldn't meet his gaze._

_"Greg, your hands are shaking."_

_Greg looked up at Nick with wide eyes, and ground his palms into his thighs, hoping to still them. It didn't work. "They shake, when I'm...uh..." Greg cleared his throat uncertainly. "When I'm tired or upset."_

_"You're not getting much sleep, huh?" Nick murmured, and Greg thought he looked almost guilty that he himself was able to sleep alright._

_"N-Not really," Greg said, looking away from Nick and blinking rapidly. "I was...I was scared. I didn't want to be alone."_

_"That's completely understandable, buddy." It had only been a day since the accident. "Greg," he cooed gently, but when the younger man still refused to look him in the eye, he reached forwards and cupped Greg's cheek in his hand, turning the Californian's face towards his own. He gently stroked the dark red bruise underneath Greg's eye with his thumb, and let him hand linger on the soft skin for a moment. When he realized just how intimate the touch was, he stiffened and pulled away in embarrassment. Greg bit his lip, and pretended not to wish that Nick's hand was still on his cheek._

_"Greg," said Nick, both hands safely in his lap. "It's normal to be scared. After the kidnapping, after the shooting, I was... I was terrified. But... it'll get better; I promise."_

_"I know," replied Greg, pulling a cushion into his lap and playing idly with the edge of it. "I just... after the beating, I was so doped up on painkillers, that fallin' asleep was easy. But now," he looked up for the first time, and raised his hand to the bruise surrounding his left eye. "All I got for this is Tylenol, and-and it doesn't even work, and I can't get any sleep and—" Greg sighed in frustration. "I can't even-I don't, I-I don't know what to do, Nick."_

_Greg looked up at Nick with helpless eyes, and then suddenly stood. "I-I should go. I shouldn't have come, I should—"_

_"Greg, wait," Nick reached out and grasped Greg's wrist in his hand. "Stay here tonight. I've got a guest room, and a state of the art security system. And, I'm in the next room if you need me."_

_Greg hesitated for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He was seconds away from saying 'I need you. I need you. I need you all the time'_

_"Please, Greg," Nick implored, and smiled in relief when Greg's fingers curled around Nick's wrist, and he nodded in agreement._

_They stood there for a moment, sharing an awkward sort of handshake, and then Nick pulled Greg into a bear hug, wrapping his arms around his friend and squeezing him tightly. Greg's arms encircled Nick's back, and he closed his eyes, taking comfort in the safety of Nick's arms._

_"Thank you," Greg whispered into Nick's shoulder._

_"I'm just glad you're okay," Nick squeezed tighter and inhaled Greg's musky scent. "I'm just _so_ glad that you're okay."_

* * *

_Nick came to a stop in front of Greg, and was suddenly at a loss for words. Greg was just sitting there, in the back of the ambulance, staring up at him with lost eyes. There was blood all over his chest and he was shivering in the cold night air. All Nick really wanted to do was hug him, but he knew he couldn't. Greg was evidence. He had to keep it together._

_"I have to give you my statement," Greg said suddenly, his voice sounding eerily hollow. "I mean, I'm supposed to give my statement to Brass, but... I can give it to you right?" Greg's voice became small and scared, and Nick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. "It doesn't- it doesn't really matter who I give it to right?"_

_"Greg, you don't have to worry about your statement right now. Really, it's not—"_

_"No," Greg interrupted. Then he paused and blinked hazily, like he wasn't sure what he was disagreeing to. "No. You have to take my statement and process me. Then you have to work the scene."_

_"Greg, look," Nick said, staring into Greg's owl-like eyes. "You're in shock. You're not thinking straight. Let me take you to the hospital. I can call Catherine; she can process the scene. Or Sara, or Ray-"_

_"No!" Greg almost shouted, grabbing Nick's hands in his. He dug his fingernails into Nick's palm, and spoke with a frightened desperation. "No, I need _you_ to process the scene! N-n-no one else! _You_!"_

_"Greg, I don't... I don't understand," Nick said, shaking his head in confusion. "We got the guy. He's dead. You have nothing to worry about."_

_"I know! I know, I know, I know..." Greg muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to allay his frustration and put his thoughts in order. "Look Nick," he leaned forwards and gripped Nick's hands tighter. "Brass said that we don't have an ID on that kid. I need you to find out who he is. I need to know his name. Please."_

_"Greg, I don't..." Nick trailed off when he saw Greg's eyes flutter close. The younger man was mumbling something under his breath, and Nick strained his ears to hear._

_"D in Maths, D in Maths, D in Maths..." Greg mumbled to himself._

_"Greg," Nick called out. "Greg I don't—"_

_"Understand," Greg struggled. "You don't understand. But you will. Just let me give you my statement, and then you will understand _everything_. Please, Nicky."_

_"Okay," Nick squeezed Greg's hands supportively, even though he barely knew what was going on. "Okay, let me get Brass and we can—" _

_"Wait!" Greg panicked when the older CSI stood up to leave. "Wait, d-don't go! I don't want to be alone. Please don't go, please don't—"_

_"Shoo," Nick hushed him. "I'm not going anywhere. Brass is going to come take your statement, while I process you and collect the evidence, okay? I'm going to be right here. I swear; I'm not going _anywhere._"_

_"Okay, okay," Greg said breathlessly, with a quick nod._

_Nick called out to Brass, and tried to focus on processing Greg. _It's just another witness_, Nick tried to tell himself. _Not Greg, not a victim, just another witness._ But it was getting harder and harder to convince himself, when it was Greg's bloody chest in front of him, and Greg's voice echoing in his ears..._

_"He came up behind me... Freeze."_

_Snap shot of Greg's chest. Swab blood. Apply Luminol. Store sample. Okay._

_"He walked up to me... checked for a gun."_

_Photograph bruise on Greg's—no; witness'—cheek. _It's just procedure, Nick, just procedure.

_"Pistol-whipped... pulled this kid out of the closet."_

_Finger-nail scrapings. _Keep it together, Stokes.

_"Shot him...Just a kid... And it was my fault...All my fault."_

_It's just another witness. Just another witness. Just another—_

_But this wasn't just another witness. Jesus Christ, this was _Greg_._

_"Greg, don't you say that. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Greg, you have to listen—"_

_"No," snarled Greg, a fire in his eyes. "No, you don't know, you don't know anything! No matter what you say, I know. I know that it was my... my... my f-fault."_

_Greg closed his eyes and tried to drive away the assailant's voice from inside his head. _"This is what happens when you lie to me, you sonuvabitch! This is your goddamn fault!"_ He squeezed his eyes tight, but he couldn't drive away the man's voice, or the sound of a gunshot echoing through him, or the sight of that kid lying helpless and bleeding on the floor, and...and... fuck. D in Maths, D in maths, D in maths._

_"Greg!" Nick yelled, gripping Greg's shoulders, all thoughts of salvaging evidence gone. "Greg, you listen to me okay! You listen to me—"_

"Are you even_ listening_ to me, Stokes?" Brass' voice broke him out of his reverie. "You done here?" he asked.

Nick looked around at the crime scene and at the fifty-something-year-old man lying dead at his feet. "Uh... No. I'll be done in a minute."

"Okay, just try and hurry it up would ya?" Brass said, annoyed that the CSI kept zoning out and wasn't doing his job properly. Nick was a good CSI, but today he seemed almost incapable of working. But Brass knew the entire team had been through a lot recently, so he just took a deep breath, bit back any sarcastic remarks and left the room.

Nick stood quietly for a minute, and then doubled over, his hands on his knees. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head and then straightened up. He tried to remember what Greg had said to him: _No! I need you to process the scene! No one else. You!_

He focused on that, took a deep breath and began processing the scene with renewed vigour. He was going to work the case and put another killer behind bars. And he would do it damn well too, because that was his job. Because that was his fucking job.

* * *

Nick stepped out of his car and stretched. His shift had ended five hours ago, but he had only just gotten home. Still, he had wrapped up his case, and it felt good to know that another bad guy was off the streets because of him.

He dreaded having to face up to Greg after what had happened between them, and yet, seeing his friend's beat up Jetta in the driveway eradicated some of his exhaustion. Just knowing that Greg was safe and okay made him smile, and yet, the very realization that Greg meant so much to him made him sick with fear and dread.

He fumbled with his keys and unlocked the front door. Greg had a habit of locking the door even when he was home. What Nick saw made his heart skip a beat.

Greg stood in front of him, his eyes grave, with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Nick realized with a shock, that all the little odds and ends of Greg's that had littered his apartment were now gone. The coffee beans that were usually placed on his counter, the blanket that was once thrown over the back of the couch, the novel and book-light that used to be on the coffee table, the laptop that used to charge by the answering machine—it was all gone; gone into the backpack hanging off Greg's shoulder with an air of finality that scared Nick more than he would admit.

The shock of it all made Nick's chest hurt. His grip loosened, and his keys fell to the floor with an ominous clanking sound that made both men jump.

"Greg? Are you... are you leaving?"

"Do you want me to?"

* * *

_The night has fallen, I'm lyin' awake _  
_I can feel myself fading away _  
_So receive me brother with your faithless kiss _  
_Or will we leave each other alone like this _  
_On the streets of Philadelphia_

Bruce Springsteen_  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: It Ends Tonight

Summary: After a terrible incident at a crime scene one night, Nick must help Greg stay on his feet. But, in the aftermath of that night, Nick realizes that he's the one who's falling. Now it's up to Greg to help him accept it.

Genre: Drama/Romance

Warning: Slash. Some swearing.

Rating: M for adult content and use of profanity.

Timeline: Post season 10. No major spoilers, but there might be a few.

Pairing: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes (The Love)

Disclaimer: Don't own CSI. *sigh*

Author's Note: Okay, so I have NOT abandoned this story! I just take really long to update (but, come on, a seven thousand word chapter is gonna take a while). I just want to remind to guys that this story is still set after the end of season ten, even though the real show is already on its twelfth season. Thank you for all your support guys, and thank you to _CrazyLeex, katwinchester, CMAli 1, burrollie, YouthAwareness, kidneythieves, greggo-123, NaKita277 _for your wonderful reviews. I try to reply individiually to everyone's reviews, but if I wasn't able to I am truly sorry. Enjoy!

* * *

_I'm in transit, but I'm stranded on this boat.  
And I pledge myself allegiance to a better night's sleep at home_

* * *

"Are you... are you leaving?"

This wasn't what Nick had expected. He had expected an old, comfy couch that didn't stick to his skin like the one in the break room. He had wanted wine after a hard day at work, and an old, beat-up novel. But now the couch seemed far away, and the cold, wooden floor hurt the heels of his feet. He was tired, too tired, to deal with this.

"Do you want me to?"

Greg sounded scared, and Nick was scared too. He didn't know what he wanted...Well, maybe he did. He wanted Greg to stay. But he was completely certain that he wasn't supposed to want that, and now he didn't know what to do, or what to say, or even how to say it. His mouth felt heavy and disconnected, and unusually dry. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but the real reason he was suddenly rendered unable to speak was because he had never seen anyone else pull off a coral coloured t-shirt the way Greg could. His shoulders filled it out so perfectly, and the half-length sleeves fell loosely around the slight curve of his bicep. The plain t-shirt defined his slim waist, and brought out the pinkness of his thin, pursed lips.

But, that couldn't be it. It was just the shock of it all, wasn't it, that made it so hard to think and to breathe and to speak?

"Nick," Greg sighed around the word, his coral-coloured chest expanding around Nick's name, pausing as it took in the soft hiss of the word, and deflating like a badly timed anticlimax as it spat out the 'k' harshly. Greg had never said his name that way, a pained, tired whine, and it made Nick's chest hurt. He gritted his teeth, and, against his better judgement, imagined that very same whine perfumed with arousal rather than pain. Nick, Greg would whisper, his lower lip trembling, and his breath catching around the word.

Nick felt a moan try to claw its way out of his stomach, and swallowed it down with a shudder. "Greg, please..." he said, begging Greg with his eyes, but Greg just shook his head helplessly. Of course, Nick realized with a growl of frustration, of course, because no one could help him but himself.

He took an involuntary step towards Greg, and caught himself mid-air. But it was too late to backtrack, and he stumbled forwards towards Greg, the heel of his heavy work shoe crashing against the wood and echoing in his ears. He lifted a shaky hand and twisted the neck of Greg's t-shirt in his fist. The cloth was softer than it looked, thin too. Nick rubbed it between his fingers for a moment, and then looked into Greg's bewildered eyes. There was a startling amount of desire in Greg's dark eyes, and Nick knew it was mirrored in his own. But there was just something about the way Greg's Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously, that made Nick want to put his lips to it.

He almost did too, but clenched his jaw and took a step back instead. Greg stiffened and paused, pondering something. Silence weighed heavily in the room. The dishwasher was running, a buzz that echoed in his chest. The clocked ticked in the background, and air whooshed out of the AC vent and then stopped. Greg took a step back, placed his palm flat on the dining table behind him. The polished wood stuck to his sweaty hand as he pressed his fingers down hard on the surface. He took a deep breath, not realizing that he had been holding it in the first place. Thoughts whooshed through his head too fast to grasp. But he was a scientist, a chemist. He knew it didn't matter what he thought now. It was all up to Nick now.

He stared at the wall above Nick's shoulder, white paint grey under the shadow of the ceiling. He waited; he had already added his chemicals to the equation, now it was up to Nick to add his. He waited, for the explosion of chemicals, the change of colour, or the anticlimax of nothing at all. No reaction. As he waited, he let his mind shut off just for a moment as he inhaled the smell of wood and vanilla in the air.

He waited.

No reaction. Wrong chemicals. Nothing produced.

Then he pushed past Nick towards the door, and finality of it all made it completely impossible for Nick to think. "No!" Nick shouted suddenly, spinning around to face Greg, and throwing an arm out in his direction. Greg looked up at him from the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. "No, I don't want you... to leave."

Greg grinned in relief, and then the younger CSI was talking a mile a minute like he always did when he was nervous—but not scared. It was distressing actually, how quiet Greg got when he was scared.

"Nick," he said, shaking his head in disbelief and walking towards him. "Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick," he trailed like it was the only thing he knew how to say. "Nick, you have no idea how much this means to me," he continued breathlessly, walking up to Nick, and placing his hands on the older man's shoulders." I don't know how to thank you. I-I thought you were going to hit me." He laughed nervously. Greg's eyes were darting everywhere, and he was talking too fast for Nick to understand what he was saying. Not that he could pay attention to Greg's words anyway; not with Greg's warm hands resting peacefully on his shoulders. "I don't know what I would have done if... if... if... I-I don't know, I don't know..." Greg's eyes met Nick's finally, and he couldn't tear them away. He slowly trailed off, his frantic movements slowly until, he was almost completely still. Only his head still swayed slowly from side to side in utter and complete shock, as he stared at Nick open-mouthed. His voice and thoughts were lost to the wind. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lip. "Can I kiss you?" he said finally, his eyes unguarded and his smile easy and unafraid.

Somehow, Nick's hands had made their way onto Greg's hips, his thumbs rubbing circles over the thin cloth of his t-shirt. Greg's eyes finally stopped boring into his, instead trailing down to his lips. Greg cocked his head, his lips parting as a pink tongue darted out to lick them. Nick swallowed, and tore his gaze away from Greg's mouth, trying to forget how they felt against his mouth. He stared at the space above Greg's shoulder, hating himself a little more, because it shouldn't have been so easy, even without Greg's droopy, puppy-dog eyes looking into his, it shouldn't have been so easy to break Greg's heart.

It shouldn't have been so easy, to push Greg away seconds before their lips met, to turn around, hurry to his room and slam the door shut behind him. It shouldn't have been so easy to not look back into hurt eyes, and it shouldn't have been so easy for tears to spring to his own, as he slid down his bedroom door. It should have been a lot fucking harder.

But it wasn't.

* * *

It hurt, it hurt more than Greg could bear. It made his chest ache, and his eyes burn. He banged his head against the refrigerator behind him, and let the pain rattle through him. He had been sitting there, on the kitchen floor, for an hour or so, trying to muster up the strenght to get up and go to bed. But he was _so fucking angry_, and he didn't like going to bed when he was angry, because the nightmares were bad enough anyway.

The tile floor was cold and hard. The kitchen smelt of gas and the garbage bag nobody had taken out. The dishwasher stopped running, and the silence was hard to take, so Greg banged his fist against the refrigerator behind him. The loud crash and the rattle of things inside was satisfying, but the silence that followed was worse than before.

He felt the heat of the fridge behind him, and listened to its whirring until it seemed to rattle his chest. He began to hum tunelessly to himself, so soft he could barely hear it. He felt his throat close up around the vibration, and swallowed back tears.

Whe really felt like doing was taking Nick's name dumping it into a stream of swear words and shouting it out to the walls. But Nick would probably hear him and throw him out on his ass. He sighed angrily, frustrated that he really depended on Nick _that _much. So much that he was afraid to speak his mind, in case it pissed Nick off, and lost him a friend. He hated needing anything that much, let alone someone who was fully capable of biting him in the ass when he least expected it. And that's exactly what Nick had done.

What was Nick's fucking problem, anyway? Why did he have to be so _nice_ to Greg, if he was going to avoid him forever because of one kiss, that left Greg feeling as perplexed as Nick anyway? Didn't he see that Greg felt exactly the same way, confused and lonely and burning with a desire that was almost scary?

Nick had been so compassionate and patient with Greg since that night, and if it wasn't for him, Greg probably would have been in a mental hospital by now. Even though Nick hadn't exactly done anything specifically,there was just something about him that Greg was addicted to. Conversation with Nick was easy and fun, and Greg could let his guard down in front of Nick and finally be himself. And anyway, it was hard to wuss out in front of a guy who had been buried alive with a loaded gun and lived to tell the tale. That was all that Greg really needed, someone to keep him strong, because when he was acting strong there was no time to be scared.

As long as he wasn't scared, he was okay. He could handle the pain, the guilt, the nightmares, but not the fear. It was different, having a gun held to his head, different from lab explosions and alleyway bruises. Charred flesh and the smell of grit and blood didn't leave any room for thought, just instinct, action and desperation. But the cold touch of metal, the hard pressure of the barrel pushed against the back of his neck, it gave him too much time. There was no pain, no fire, no glass, no alleyway floor. Just fear and too much time to think about regrets and his family and friends and lovers, and Nick. Too much time to think about things he had hidden away into the dark corners of his mind, and now all of that thinking was screwing his over; fucking him up, and making it impossible to ignore his problems.

There were all these questions unearthed, about Nick and his relationship with his parents and death and God and everything he would leave behind. Like, would Grissom cry like he did at Warrick's funeral? And would Sara give his eulogy or Nick or his mother? And who would replace him at the lab? And would Warrick being waiting for him, alongside Papa and Nana Olaf, and his childhood pet Skippy, and his best friend at college who died in a meth lab explosion? Or, God forbid, Demetrius James, there to tell him that all those years he didn't confess, and all those Sundays he didn't spend at Church were coming back to haunt him, and he would be in Hell forever because he fucking murdered a kid?

And they wouldn't leave him alone. The questions about God, and death, and Nick and Nick and Nick. Nick was the one he'd miss the most, the one he would visit in dreams, and watch over. It would be Nick's bed he would hover over every night, watching the older man's spirit lift out of his body in his sleep as he roamed the world of dreams. And did he really believe in that shit? In Nana's spirituality and pychic abilities, and maybe he did. Maybe there was some sprinkle of faith left in him afterall.

But none of it changed the fact that, when the chilling thought of death floating into his mind, without the pain, bruises and burns to keep it at bay, it was Nick who he thought of. And all his life, he had spent seeking independance, whether it meant fighting off a coddling mother, or leaving California, or getting out of the lab. And now, all of that hard-earned independance flew out of the window, because here he was, on the floor of Nick's kitchen, rather than in his own bed, in his own apartment. And why? Because he fucking needed the guy. He needed that prick of a Texan, that asshole who led him on and then slammed the bedroom door in his face after he was done with him.

That prick, that asshole, who was also compassionate and kind and sweet and generous. And fuck him for being that guy, the good guy, because Greg _needed_ him, and that was one word he hated. Need. Why the fuck did he have to need anything? Why the fuck did he have to need anything that was going to screw him over afterwards?

Need. Fucking Need.

And you know what he needed? He needed for Nick to stop being so fucking_ nice_ to him! If he wasn't so kind and patient and understanding and helpful, then maybe it would be easier to get up and leave. But there was Modern Warfare on the couch, and beer and pizza on the dining room floor, and poetry in the study, and all these uninhibited touches and comforting words and private jokes and subtle glances chaining him back to Nick's house and that tiny chance that Nick didn't really regret that kiss in the lockerroom. And even a slammed door and the cold, tiled floor couldn't burn out that tiny flame of hope that maybe Nick needed him too.

And he needed that flame to be put out. Immediately. Ha! There was that word again, need. Fuck it, he thought, stumbling to his feet, and pulling out a beer from the fridge.

"To need," he made a toast. "Who always comes back to fuck you over just when you think you're done with crushes and unrequited love. To fucking need."

He downed the beer, cherished the burn, and went to bed.

* * *

The mattress groaned as Nick rolled over in bed and kicked off the heavy eiderdown. He stared at the alarm clock on his bedside table, wishing it would ring just so he would have a reason to get out of bed. He had been tossing and turning for about three hours; he would hardly call it sleeping, though he hadn't been entirely conscious either. But it was hard to sleep, knowing that Greg was in the next room upset and angry. There was a stirring in his stomach, a nagging at the back of his head and heaviness in his throat that was much worse than just nausea. He'd experienced guilt before, but knowing Greg was the one he had hurt, made his feel a hell of a lot guiltier. He was getting used to that now, the idea that every emotion he felt was a thousand times stronger when Greg was involved.

He rolled over onto his stomach, buried his head under the pillow, and willed himself to fall asleep again. After ten minutes or so of tossing and turning, wrestling with the eiderdown, trying, and failing, to not think about Greg, Nick decided he wasn't going to be getting any more sleep.

He sat up in bed, and tried to ignore his growing headache. He turned on the bedside lamp, and retrieved his book from the table. He began reading from where he left off, but soon his thoughts were gravitating back to Greg, as he wondered how he would convince the poor reader to dig into this novel once he was done with it. When he had read the same sentence for the fifth time, he growled in frustration and threw the book across the room. Why should he give a fuck if the only books Greg read were about chemistry, forensics, and Vegas history?

He had begun to realize, rather, he had stopped denying, that he thought about Greg way more than he should. It was bad enough that he worried about Greg constantly, but now, even the smallest most mundane things reminded him of Greg; like books and coffee and DNA. What he realized, now, was that there was too much Greg, in everything he did, and said and thought. And it was that much harder to ignore Greg, to slam a door in his face, to _not _kiss him, when he couldn't stop thinking about him.

Nick heard the creak of a door, and instinctively reached for the gun on the bedside table. He hadn't even taken the safety off when it occurred to him that it was probably just Greg waking up for a midnight snack. He did that almost every night he had been at Nick's. Nick wondered if Greg was just naturally restless, or whether he found it hard to sleep since the incident at his crime scene.

Nick heard another door being yanked open and then closed again; the bathroom in the hall probably. Nick had been using the guest room bathroom as a storage area recently, so Greg usually used the powder room in the hall. Nick pulled his knees up to his chest, and closed his eyes. Half of him wanted to speak to Greg right now and straighten things out, but he was too scared of what the consequences would be. Fucking coward, he thought angrily.

He growled low in his throat and punched the bed next to him. He'd been acting like an asshole to Greg since the kiss, and he hated himself for it. He knew he had to go and talk about what had happened, but he couldn't work up the courage. Because if he did, he knew what it meant, that he couldn't deny it any longer. He was falling for his co-worker, and he would fall hard. And then what? Heartbreak, probably. Even if they managed to tough it out, to make it work, there would always be homophobic cops, and coming out to their friends, and a thousand other problems that Nick would rather steer clear off. And if things did go wrong, seeing each other every day at work would be like rubbing salt in open wounds. And, face it, things probably would go wrong. Besides the usual tension of trying to make their relationship work, there would be the added stress of working together. If their supervisor found out, they'd probably be on different shifts, or maybe even out of a job. Or worse; they'd end up like Grissom and Sara: in different continents.

The truth of the matter was, it just didn't seem worth the risk. If he and Greg got together, they would break up; and twelve years of friendship and good memories would mean nothing. Nick stood, and walked out of the bedroom before he could change his mind. He was going to tell Greg exactly what he thought, that kissing or fucking or actually getting together were the worst things they could possibly do, a recipe for disaster.

Only once he got to the bathroom door, and was about to open it, did he realize how ridiculous this probably looked from the outside. One man, sleep-warm in a t-shirt and pajamas, walking into the bathroom already occupied by another, younger, and probably more dishevelled man. (Nick tried to not to acknowledge that, after living with him for only a week, he could visualize a sleepy Greg perfectly: the ruffled hair, the warm skin—warm enough that he shivered if Nick turned the fan on in the lounge right after Greg had woken up—hazy eyes, boxer shorts, and a thin, ratty old t-shirt that hung off his bony shoulders loosely) Absolutely fucking ridiculous; like he could walk into that bathroom right now, and expect Greg to believe him when he told him he wasn't attracted to him and didn't want a relationship. Hell, Nick wouldn't even believe it himself! The situation was as queer as it got.

He rested his forehead against the bathroom door, his hand still lingering on the doorknob. He paused; should he go in? Go back to bed? Wait for Greg to come out Nick was sure that by the time Greg came out of the bathroom, he'd have lost his nerve completely. If he hadn't lost it already.

Suddenly, he heard fumbling, desperate and careless, on the other side of them door. He pressed his ear against the door, half concerned, half curious. The sound of retching filled his ears, and he winced. He knew how much Greg hated vomiting; he had told Nick that the last time he had gotten really drunk was the night he passed his final proficiency to become a CSI. He hated the hangover enough to sacrifice the high. The team had partied hard that night, though Nick didn't recall Greg drinking very much. Lightweight, probably; wouldn't really surprise him.

But Nick knew that alcohol wasn't the only thing that made Greg nauseous. Nightmares too. The Texan had enough of his own to know that everyone reacted differently. He got violent; yelled, punched his pillow, kicked his bed, and cried angry, fat tears. And Greg got sick.

The first time Nick found Greg throwing up after a nightmare, he had slipped into the bathroom hoping to comfort him. Greg had pushed him away, mumbled incoherently, blushed a deep red, and stumbled out of the bathroom. Since then, Nick had learned that Greg wanted his space after a nightmare, and so instead of confronting him, Nick would inconspicuously slip into his room and leave Greg a can of sprite and some aspirin on the bedside table.

Greg only got sick after the bad ones, and Nick felt instantly guilty; were his actions the night before responsible for the nightmare? He stepped back from the door, knowing there was no way he could go inside and speak to Greg right now. He turned away, sighing guiltily, and walked into the kitchen to get Greg something to drink.

He spotted the half-empty beer bottle on the counter, and chugged down the rest of the beer. It was warm and flat, and he grimaced, tossing it into the trash. He grabbed a can of sprite from the fridge, and took in into Greg's room with some aspirin. He placed them on Greg's bedside table, and turned on the lamp, glancing around the room.

The eiderdown was bunched up at the bottom of Greg's bed. Twisted and tangled, it was thrown half on the floor. Even the sheets had come off of the mattress. The blatant evidence of Greg's nightmare made Nick's chest hurt, and he tore his gaze away from the bed. He still had nightmares about his kidnapping and the shooting. He knew how it felt to wake up sweaty and scared, and all alone. To hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears, and to be too afraid to close your eyes because then you'd be back there again. He knew how it felt to force yourself to live through each day, and then not even have a reprieve when you were sleeping.

He gritted his teeth and left the room abruptly. He marched up to his bedroom door with every intention of going back to bed and forgetting about life for a while. But something stopped him, and he backtracked, stopping in front of the bathroom door. He pressed his ear against the door, and listened to the sound of the shower running. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A serene calmness washed over him, displacing his unease and shame. It was the same feeling that overcame him whenever he saw Greg, or anything that belonged to him, Blue Hawaiian on the kitchen counter, an unfolded blanket on the couch, a crime novel on the coffee table, or this, a shower running. Just the knowledge that Greg was safe, alive and with him was comforting to Nick. But Nick had learned pretty early in his career that when your life was on the line every day, you had to appreciate simple pleasures like seeing your best friend alive and relatively unscathed.

Nick heard a bang from inside the bathroom and started. Instinctively he pushed open the unlocked bathroom door and stepped into the steamy room. His chest felt tight, and he couldn't think straight. He pressed his fingernails into his sweaty palm and breathed in the clean citrusy smell of Greg's shampoo. He knew he was over reacting, but he had to know that Greg was okay.

"Greg?" he called out, biting his lip. He took a step towards the opaque shower door and then stepped back again. He called out again, but Greg didn't reply. Nick swallowed thickly and pressed his ear against the damp shower door. He couldn't hear anything over the running water. His fingers flitted hesitantly over the handle. His heart raced and he felt irrationally afraid of losing Greg. He heart clenched painfully as he recalled how scared Greg had been the first night he came to Nick's. Greg's fear seemed to mingle with his own, and then he was sure: Greg was hurt. Greg was hurt and Nick had to save him.

He pulled the shower door open with sweaty palms and a thumping heart. And then everything slowed down. Greg wasn't hurt, but he was looking at Nick with lost, wide eyes. His breathing was ragged, and one shaky hand was planted on the tile wall, while the other dangled by his side. He was... naked. And Nick wasn't sure why that surprised him. Nick blinked hazily, watching a droplet of water drip from Greg's plastered hair, slide down his nose and drop onto his thin lip. His tongue shot out to lick it away, and Nick was overwhelmed with the urge to trace the same spot with his own tongue.

Nick knew, somewhere deep in his head, that Grge would probably get really fucking mad at him later, and he'd die of embarrassment. But somehow, Nick couldn't reach that thought, the thought that would send him out of the bathroom and probably the house. He felt oddly detached, objective almost. Like Greg was a peice of artwork at a museum. His gaze trailed down Greg's wet chest with intense concentration, and yet with a certain disconnection from what he was really seeing. His gaze reached Greg's navel, and he paused, his thoughts connecting and the reality of the situation hitting him full force. Stop it, Nick, he said to himself. This is wrong.

His eyes returned to Greg's and he waited, ready for whatever Greg had to say to him. He couldn't run. He had to face the consequences of his actions.

But Greg's barely even spoke. He mumbled, his words slurred, disjointed, and barely audible over the sound of running water. The shower was still on."Can't... reach. Can't... need to... soap."

Nick frowned. He didn't even think Greg was speaking to him. His gaze was on the ground and the hand hanging by his side was stretched out and reaching for something. Nick looked down, blinking at the bar of Irish Spring on the shower floor. Greg's hand was shaking, he realized, and without thinking about it, he reached out his own. His grasped Greg's wrist gently, and the younger man blinked up at him. Greg's hand was warm and wet. Nick could feel light tremors running through it. He tightened his grip on Greg's wrist, and rubbed his thumb in soothing circles on the back of his hand. It stopped shaking, but instead of letting go, Nick pushed it forwards towards the bar of soap. Greg gripped it with loose fingers, and Nick lifted his hand up again. They faced each other, Greg inside the shower stall and Nick outside of it. The bar of green soap lay in Greg palm, and Nick's hand still gripped his wrist, harder now, as he breathed unevenly through his mouth.

They looked down at the soap, their hands, and then back at each other, their confusion mirrored in each other's eyes. Not a word was spoken. Greg's wrist felt hot against Nick's palm, and his skin was reddened. The water that ricocheted off the wall and onto Nick's skin and clothes burned, and he felt it cool down on his skin. It felt odd, being fully clothed, when Greg was so open, so vulnerable, so pure, wearing nothing but skin.

The tension was thick, like the steam in the room. Soaking, clenching, suffocating.

"You're... dead," Greg whispered, finally, shock and disbelief coating his voice. Nick started, his breath catching. "Y-you," Greg pulled his wrist away from Nick's hand harshly, the soap falling from his hand again, and banging against the tile loudly, surprising them both. "You _died_! I-I killed you," Greg said incredulously. He whimpered, and pressed himself against the wall of the shower, trying to get as far away from Nick as possible.

Nick had never seen him look so scared before, so vulnerable. He forced himself to keep his eyes on Greg's face, and not wander any lower. When Greg's emotions were already bare and unmasked, it felt wrong to strip him down any further.

"Greg, Greg, no... I'm not—" he stumbled over his words, confusion wrapped around his mind. Did Greg think he was that dead kid? Was that why he looked so scared? "No. No, no, no. It's me, Greg. It's Nick!"

"I _know_," Greg said, his voice trembling hard. "But-but I _swear_, I didn't... it wasn't my fault. I-I... He _made_ me do it! It was s-so cold, and he held it t-to my head and said it was the only way. The only way t-to redeem myself, for what I had done. And now, and now...I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Please, please don't—" Greg's voice caught, and he shuddered. "Nicckk..."

"Greg," he murmured, feeling desperate and sick. "Calm down, please. I-I don't understand. Please, just..." He trailed off. Greg wasn't listening to him. He kept looking down at his chest, his arms, and shaking his head.

"I can't get it off me," Greg muttered to himself. He began rubbing and scratching at his arms. Nick's heart was thumping wildly in his throat, and he felt himself panic and lose control.

"Greg, I don't understand. Please, just..._stop_!" he grabbed onto Greg's wrists harshly, bringing them to a jerky halt. Greg's eyes met his, his gaze finally lucid. He looked defiant and scared at the same time, and Nick felt the sudden urge to just kiss it all away.

Greg swallowed nervously, and then stared at Nick with his lips parted. Soft. Red. Wet.

Nick took a deep breath, looked back into Greg's eyes, dark with confusion and unease, but no longer filled with white, hot panic. "Nick," Greg said, his voice soft and strangled. He was staring at Nick like this was the first time he had even noticed the older man was in the room. His gaze wandered down over Nick's clothed chest to his cotton pants. Greg took a deep breath, suddenly very aware of his own nudity. A blush crept up his neck, and Nick watched it spread over the younger man's cheeks, his ears. For a moment he wondered how it would feel to be the cause of that flush. To be on top of Greg, touching, kissing, licking. Red, hot skin. Hot because of him. Hot _for_ him.

And then Greg's almost inaudible, 'Fuck,' brought him back to reality. And _fucking hell_, how did they get themselves into this situation? How could Nick convince himself they were just friends? Friends didn't do this; friends didn't look at their buddies, naked and hurting, and want to touch them. Touch them everywhere. Touch everything. Caress, stroke, hold, jerk, shove, kiss. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. Everything.

Nick swallowed back a ragged whimper. He couldn't deny it any more. Couldn't deny this pulsing need that he felt in his stomach, his throat, all along his spine, and deep in his groin. He didn't understand it, he didn't know why. Why, after working with Greg for ten years, did he feel attracted to him all of a sudden? Why did he want him, need him? Why was he so afraid to have him? It wasn't like it was his first time, with a guy or a girl. It wasn't like he hadn't been in love before. Why was this so terrifying?

"I can't get clean," Greg murmured, his voice small and scared. His gaze fell somewhere over Nick's left shoulder, and his chest heaved with each breath. "He's always there, in my dreams... and I don't even know his name." Greg took a deep, shuddering breath. "And everytime, i-it's always me who kills him. It's like s-someone makin' me do it. Putting the gun in my hand... forcing me to put the trigger. And-" Greg's gaze met Nick's, and he felt his chest tighten when he saw Greg's eyes were brimmed over with tears. "This time it was you. I-I shot you, and you screamed. So loud. And... and when I woke up, all I could hear was you screaming. Ringing in my ears, and—"Greg let out an uneven breath, and each word sounded like it was an effort to get out. Greg closed his eyes, fighting back tears, and fell silent.

Nick blinked back his own tears; his chest was tight with overwhelming emotions. Greg had been dreaming about him. And, even though it had been a nightmare, Nick felt a rush of affection at the thought. He stepped forwards, into the shower, closer to Greg. The hot water soaked his already wet clothes, and he didn't bother turning it off. He brought his hand up to caress Greg's cheek, and wiped away wet hair from his forehead. Greg didn't open his eyes, and Nick wondered what would happen if he just leaned over and kissed the younger man. He didn't, telling himself he didn't want to take advantage of Greg; telling himself he wasn't scared.

The stood in silence for a long time, Nick's hand still on Greg's face. He closed his eyes too, concentrating on the way the hot water steamed down his face and down the neck of his shirt. Tight, wet cotton across his chest and deep breath. He looked into the stormy calm of Greg's dark eyes, and whispered. "Let me," he croaked. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Let me... make you feel clean again."

Greg's eyes fluttered, his gaze hopeful and earnest. But even Nick didn't know what he meant by that. He bit his bottom lip, and then leaned forwards, pressing a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of Greg's mouth and then retreating before the younger man had the chance to respond. Greg jerked forwards instinctively, his motions uncoordinated. But Nick stopped him, placing a palm flat on his chest. Greg paused, complying with Nick immediately. His open, unabashed trust was too much, and Nick wanted to just turn him around and fuck him against the tiled wall.

He didn't; he didn't becasue he wanted this to last. He wanted this to mean something. And a first time again the bathroom wall at three o'clock in the morning meant absolutely _nothing_.

So he leaned down and grasped the bar of soap in shaky hands. He rubbed his hands against it, and the smell seemed to brand itself in his nose. He'd never forget that, the smell of Irish Spring and the smell of Greg and this moment.

He placed his hands on either side of Greg's smooth, hot neck, and felt the younger man tense and then relax under his touch. His hands slipped across the width of Greg's broad shoulder, and then back up his neck to his narrow jaw. He cupped Greg's face in his hands, his fingers running soothing circles on the nape of his neck, and his thumbs resting on Greg's cheek just next to his ears.

Greg's eyes fluttered closed, and Nick began massaging the soap into Greg's shoulders, his thumbs pressed into the hollows above his collarbone, and his fingers working at the knots in Greg's shoulders. He felt them sag under his touch, and smiled when Greg hummed appreciatively. Nickran his hands down the slope of his shoulders, and then up and down his arms. The soft skin, the toned arms, the slight bend of a bicep and smooth, round shoulders. Smooth, soft skin, and freckles and a mole just under his left shoulder. The smell of soap, clean and fresh in the hot, heavy air, and _warmth_, on Greg's skin and in the water pattering on Nick's body, and _in_ his body, hot in his chest, and soul and groin.

His hands wandered down Greg's chest, not so much rubbing in soap, not so much _cleaning_, anymore, but touching, feeling. Hard nipples and smooth chest. The flat of his palm against ribs that struggled with movement, and then fingers around a slender waist, and he's never touched Greg like this before, like...like lovers.

Up Greg's side, and into the startling heat of his underarms, back down his back, and no, not below his waist, not even looking because—

Becasue this wasn't sex. It felt like it, almost, the vulnerabilty, the soft touches, the hesitance, and those soft, little moans from Greg's mouth, and feeling the tension run out of Greg's body like the water running down the drain. And Nick couldn't deny it anymore, couldn't deny that he didn't want it. It scared him but what scared him more was the look in Greg's eyes, when he had stared, dead, into Nick's own. So scared, so bewildered, shocked. _You're dead_. The words echoed in Nick's mind, and he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Dead. He didn't want to die. He didn't want Greg to die. He didn't want Greg to be scared, scared of death, even though they both were, even though they always were. And he wanted this, but he didn't.

He forced his hands back up to Greg's shoulders, away from everything he wanted. But, even so, he needed to maintain phyisical contact. He needed to feel Greg's heat against his hands, but he couldn't, he couldn't touch Greg where he wanted to, where he needed to.

He needed to touch, to feel, to hold. Greg's pulse against his hand, and shattered breathing, and fluttering eyes, trembling lips. He needed it so badly, needed to know who Greg was, who he _really _was; needed to know him so intimately, that he would never forget. He needed Greg's body, and mouth, and hips ground up against the tile wall, and lips on his neck, and Greg.

Greg at his mercy. His hand on Greg, making him quiver, shake—for him. Greg loud, talking, begging, or completely silent, concentrating.

He needed to touch Greg, to see him, to hear him, to taste him. To _know_ him, like he had never known anyone before. To feel him, in every fibre of his being.

And then he needed it to stop. Everything. He needed to stop seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling, thinking. He needed Greg's body against his, he needed that peace, that almost painful ecstasy of absolute nothingness. White hot pleasure, and Greg and nothing else. Thinking, feeling, _nothing_.

Escape.

He needed it, he wanted it, but his hands were on Greg's face and nowhere else, and his clothes were on, wet, sticking to him, but _on._ Because he wanted it, but he couldn't have it. Not now, when nothing made sense, when he didn't know what he wanted, when he didn't know what Greg wanted. Not now, when they hadn't even talked about this, when they'd been running on pure instinct alone, pure fear, pure desperation. Now now, because he knew, he knew that if he fucked Greg against the bathroom wall, he would run. He would run, and he'd be afraid to look back.

Afraid, so afraid. Afraid because Greg had almost died. Again. And he was so scared, because what if Greg _did_ die, where would that leave him? Alone, hurt, scared, in love, and lost. And he didn't want it, he didn't want to love Greg, to make love to Greg, if he was just going to die, if Nick was going to be alone.

All alone. All over again.

But what if Nick died? What if he died alone, with having ever told Greg how he felt? What he died like this, feeliing nothing but painful longing? He needed Greg, he needed to _have_ Greg, because he didn't want to die alone. He didn't want to die.

And that's what he couldn't figure out. Run or stay? Die alone, or leave someone else to suffer after you're gone?

Alonealonealone. You always end up alone.

He sqeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't think. He couldn't weigh the fucking options. He didn't know what to do.

And then Greg's voice, soft and comforting, like he knew exactly what Nick was thinking. "Nick... we need to talk about this."

Nick opened his eyes, staring into Greg's clear, solemn gaze. Greg was right. He couln't think rationally. Not here, not now. Not when Greg was completely vulernable, exposed, unabashed, and just... there.

And he needed to think, even though he didn't want to. He needed to figure this out.

"Yeah," he said, his voice garbled and barely audbible. He cleared his throat nervously. "Yeah, let's... talk."

* * *

Author's Note: Hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter =) Huge revelation for Nick, but there's definitely going to be more drama for him in the next chapter. Greg's emo-ness reaches it's high watermark in this chapter, and he will be significantly less OC from now on (thank God). The next chapter is one of my favourites, and things are going to finally start making sense.

More flashbacks too!

Thank you for reading, and please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you CMAli, Lidil and Goddessonmyknees for your lovely reviews for the last chapter! You guys are amazing! All of your reviews were really sweet and encouraging and make me all fluttery with happiness. Hope you like this chapter! Review please! xxx

* * *

_Don't you want to come with me? Don't you want to feel my bones on your bones?_  
_It's only natural._

* * *

"Here," Greg passed one of the coffee mugs to Nick, and sat down next to him on the sofa, tucking his feet under his body. He held his own mug with both hands. He stared at the wall, took a sip. Felt the heat slip down his throat.

He'd been in a daze, and now all of a sudden, embarrassment spread through him like a fire. He couldn't believe Nick had seen him like that. How could he have lost control of himself so entirely?

But it had all felt so real. And waking up, in the middle of the night, in the dark, all alone—there was nothing to remind him of what was reality and what was just a dream.

In hindsight, the fact that he was in Nick's house should have been the first clue that Nick was alive and alright. But, how was it that waking up in Nick's guest room, finding his way to the bathroom in the dark had seemed so natural, like he had been living there for more than just a week?

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. What was wrong with him? How would he _fix_ this?

"You know," Nick put his mug down on the coffee table. "We shouldn't be drinking this. Shift won't start for hours; we could still catch some sleep."

"I'll have yours if you don't want it," Greg said quietly.

"Don't you think you should at least be _trying_ to catch up on your sleep," Nick said testily.

Greg turned to Nick, and hissed. "Don't patronize me, Stokes." _What the fuck do you know about losing sleep, Mr. point-a-gun-at-me-see-if-I-care?_

Nick sighed. "I'm sorry, Greg, but really, don't get so defensive. Can't you see I'm only trying to help?" He said without heat.

"You do," Greg looked away, frowning. "You do help. I guess—and I'm trying to be honest here—I guess, I'm just not used to it."

Nick touched Greg's hand. "Not used to being helped?"

"I'm not used to this," Greg turned to Nick, pushing his hand against Nick's chest. He shook his head, unable to express himself. "It's not like I've never loved anyone before, Nick. It's just that... it's never been so _serious._ Sober. There's no fluttering giddiness, just..."

"But aren't we supposed to be happy, Greg?" Nick wrapped his fingers around the wrist of Greg's hand on his chest. But he didn't push it away. "Drunk, instead of sober."

Greg's eyes softened, a surge of affection putting his longing to rest. "It that what you're afraid of? That you won't be happy?" He leaned closer, pressing harder against Nick's chest—constricted now, and not because of the pressure of Greg's hand.

_His eyes are moons_, Nick thought. _No. No, Stars. They've always had their own light._

"There are a lot of things that scare me, Greg," Nick tightened his grasp on Greg's wrist, as the younger man leaned dangerously close, his motives now unmistakable.

"I can make you happy, Nick," Greg murmured, pressing Nick into the couch, so that the older man was lying down. He leaned over Nick, half on top of him, and pressed his lips to the older man's.

Nick closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, steadying himself. But Greg's lips just brushed over his, long and light, surprising Nick into submission. When the younger man pulled away, Nick was touched by the gentleness in Greg's gaze.

Greg held himself over Nick's body, one knee between the older man's thighs. Despite the proximity, the two men didn't quite touch, and between them was only a gentle ache—nothing like the awful longing they had felt before.

"Have you ever been with a man before?" Greg whispered. "Have you ever felt... this before?" Greg placed his hand low on Nick's stomach. His eyes, smoldering hot, still held Nick's gaze.

Nick nodded, clearing his throat. "A few times...But only twice all the way."

Greg smiled faintly. His hand moved south and Nick jumped. Greg withdrew his hand, and frowned. "Then why are you afraid of me?"

"I'm not, Greg. It's just..." Nick sighed, then propped himself up on his elbows and kissed Greg lightly. "Look: you said we could talk. So... can we?"

Greg moved backwards, leaning against the arm of the couch opposite Nick. He watched Nick for a moment. "Well?" He asked impatiently, after a while. "Why did you run after we kissed? Isn't that what started this mess?"

Nick looked confused for a moment, then irritated. "Greg, that's not what I wanted to talk about."

Greg looked confused, but after a moment realization dawned on him, and with it, irritation. "Look, Nick," he said finally. "You know, as well as I do, that the only way to get back to normal life after… Well, you've just got to start living, that's all. And I'm trying to, believe me I can. But I can't. I can't because I don't want my normal life. I want… you. I want you in my life, and only you can make that decision."

"You don't get it, Greg," Nick said, shaking his head. "And I guess I thought you would," he paused, hesitated. "What did you feel when you watched me put a gun in my mouth?"

Greg spluttered, shocked, and unable to answer.

"Did you love me then, Greg? Even if you didn't, even if you thought of us as just friends—oh, well forget what you felt, what did you _do_?"

Greg didn't answer. What _did_ he do? Nothing. He couldn't do anything, think anything, _feel_ anything.

Had he loved Nick then? What that the ache he felt in his very soul?

"You gave me space, right Greg? You were scared, you didn't know what to do, so you gave me space.

"But what I don't understand, is what the fuck am I supposed to do, when you are begging for help and then pushing me away? How can I give you space and comfort at the same time, Greg? And how can I commit myself to you, when you're not _even_ you right now?

Greg stared at him, shocked and hurt. Tears welled in his eyes, and he rubbed them away angrily. He stood up, turning away from Nick, and speaking hurtfully. "Oh, I don't know, Nicky. I don't know what's wrong with me, what's going on. I don't know anymore, how to deal with this alone, when something inside me turns to you for help," Greg sniffed. "But I don't know how to let you help me, either. I'm just so used to making it alone."

"Well," Greg jumping, hearing Nick's voice right behind him. Nick grasped his wrist, and turned him around. "You could start by not hiding from me."

Greg blinked back tears, taking a shaky breath. "Nick, I need you to tell me that you're in this for real. I need, reassurance, I guess."

Nick paused. "So do I, Greg. I can't... I can't do this unless I know for sure you want this—"

"Nick, I—"

"No. Listen. Please. How can I know for sure, how do _you_ know for sure, that it's not just fear talking? That you don't only want me because you've just been... shocked into remembering just how mortal you are, and you're afraid to die alone?"

Greg opened and closed his mouth, lost for words. "I don't know," he said, his own admission frustrating him. Helpless. Fucking helpless.

"Well... I do. Greg, the only way to know to sure, is to make this all go away. Everything that happened to you that night, just leave it behind in the past. You can't forget; I know that. We've both been though that fear. But... I just don't think it's reassurance from me that you need. If you think I can make everything better, than I know I'll disappoint you. And if that happens... what could I do to fix us?"

"Oh, I don't know, Nick," Greg grasped Nick's elbows. "Do we really have to worry about all that right now?"

Nick sighed, frustrated. "Yes, Greg! Yes, we do! You…you don't understand! This is so _easy_ for you!"

"Hey," Greg covered Nick's mouth with his palm. His eyes flashed angrily. "How it is easy for me?" He asked, struggling to keep his voice level. "What makes this _easy_ on me?"

Nick pulled away violently, aggravated by Greg's cold, controlled tone. "Because I can make things better for you! Because—this," he gestured between the two of them, "this gives you an escape from everything you're going through! This is the _easiest fucking choice_ for you!"

Greg stood, stunned. He didn't know what to say, how to say it. His voice sounded strange to him ears, idiotic. "So it would be so terrible for you to have to be with me right? So _hard_. But how could I _possibly_ understand, right? After all it's so _easy_for me! Easy knowing that I'm dependent on someone _else_to be happy. That..." his words dried up, and he clenched his jaw. "I can't just strip away what I am, Nick. I can't just... stop being independent, just like that. And that's what's happening. Whatever we have... it's stripping everything away. And that's not _easy."_

Nick said nothing, ashamed of what he had said. But he meant it, and that only made him feel guiltier.

"Nick," Greg said coolly, steeling himself. "Do you not want to be with me? Is that why you're saying all of this?"

Nick spluttered. Honestly, he didn't know. And he hadn't expected that. Do you not want to _be with me_? It was the first time any of them had said it directly. _Be with me_. "No, that's not—Greg—oh I don't know! I want you, but I can't understand what it is that _makes_me want you! And I can't... I can't do this if I can't grasp that."

Greg stepped forwards, his anger leaving him with a sigh. He stroked Nick's forehead, pushing back his hair. "I can't even stay mad at you, anymore," he said ruefully. "One second I'm furious, and the next..." He smiled gently, looking into Nick's troubled face. "Who needs reasons? Forget about the goddamn reasons. Just tell me what you want, Nicky."

"I want to touch you."

"Then touch."

Nick slid his hand underneath Greg's t-shirt, brushing his hipbone. "I want... to protect you."

Greg corrected him gently. "Well, you can't. Not all the time. I don't want you to protect me... but it seems like I need you to anyway. So… _sometimes_. You can protect me... sometimes."

"Greg... I want..."

"Kiss me."

"Okay."

* * *

Greg sighed, muting the television and turning to Nick seriously. He pursed his lips and sat cross-legged on the sofa. They had spent the last hour or so watching Animal Planet in comfortable silence. Nick was surprised that Greg was about to start what appeared to be a serious conversation.

"Nick, I don't know how to fix this, cause I don't know what's wrong," Greg said seriously, his voice grave and low. He ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't want to make such a big deal out of this," he mumbled, "so I'm just gonna... say it and get it over with, okay? And then this isn't going to have any control over me anymore."

Nick nodded; Greg looked so earnest that he didn't have the heart to remind Greg that it wasn't that easy to get over what happened to him.

"I just don't get it," Greg went on, playing with the hem of his t-shirt. "I wasn't hurt. I didn't do anything wrong. I _know_ that. I know it's not my fault. So I just don't get what's wrong. I—" he licked his lips. "I don't know what all these dreams are about either. They're driving me crazy, and… I guess I'm just trying to get out of this medication free."

Greg looked up at Nick, but the older man said nothing. His mind was blank; he didn't know what he could say to that.

"I'm sorry," Greg said with a smile. He reached out and put his hand on Nick's. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this. You don't have to say anything. You don't have to fix this."

"I don't think I can," Nick said honestly.

"Well, neither can I," Greg stopped short, then mumbled almost to himself. "I think too much. If I could just stop thinking about it, I wouldn't have to be so..."

"So what?"

"Scared," Greg breathed out, looking Nick in the eye. He swallowed thickly, but said nothing more.

Nick leaned forwards. He bent his head, and kissed Greg gently before pulling away.

Greg grinned, then started laughing at his own response. "What was that for?"

Nick shrugged, smiling smugly despite himself. "You needed it."

Greg shook his head, still smiling. "I may never get used to this."

"Well, you should start on that."

"How 'bout," Greg murmured, moving closer, "You lemme get started on something else."

"Like what," Nick rasped out, his words drowned out in a kiss.

"What do you think?" Greg said with a laugh, sliding his hand under Nick's shirt and over his chest.

"I think," Nick said, grabbing Greg's hand. "That we were trying to have a serious conversation."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Why can't you just _do_ this with me for once?"

Nick pushed him away. "We haven't sorted anything out, Greg! That's what we're supposed to be doing!"

Greg sighed. "Okay, we'll sort everything out right now," he paused, clasped his hands together and said emotionlessly. "Do you want to be in a relationship with me?"

"Yes," Nick said, baffled.

"Are you still in the closet?"

Nick blinked, and stumbled over his words. "A-are you?"

"No," Greg said, then reconsidered. "Well, not exactly."

"Who knows?"

Greg shrugged. "Practically everyone I knew in Cisco. My parents, Sara... I don't dole out the information, but if someone I trust asks, then..." He took a deep breath and reached out for Nick's hand. "I don't hide it, Nick. And if you do, I—"

"Shut up for a second would you?" Nick said, voice strained and startled. "Just... No one knows, okay? Not even my mum, but... that's because there hasn't been any reason to tell anyone! There hasn't been anyone—any _man_—to introduce."

Greg looked away. "And if there was?"

Nick shrugged, and said plainly. "Well, I'd have no choice _but_ to tell people."

Greg hesitated for a moment, and then laughed with relief. "Thank god you feel that way. No other choice. My lord, you really are something," he grabbed Nick's face in his hands and kissed him.

Nick laughed, relief bubbling in his chest. "Do you interrogate all your prospective boyfriends like this?"

"No," Greg snorted. "Usually my mother does that for me... So what do you say we stop talking, stop planning, and start... making out?"

Nick laughed, tracing Greg's jaw with his fingers. "Actually, as usual, you're still avoiding what I really want to talk to you about."

Greg closed his eyes, and sighed. "You're not really helping me relax you know? I just want to stop thinking about it."

"Well, maybe that's your problem! If you refuse to think about it, you can't sort it out!"

"I don't _know_ how to sort it out! So I'm just going to get over it!" Greg said angrily.

"Stop acting like if you spend _one second_ wallowing in your sorrow you're going to explode! There's nothing wrong with being vulnerable. Why don't ya just accept that this is hurting you and it's not going to get better for a while?"

"Why don't you just accept that I'm making it better?"

"You're not."

"Well, I'm trying to okay," Greg hissed out angrily. "So why don't you just... just shut the fuck up!"

To silence him, Greg lunged forwards, capturing his lips. "Why won't you just let me _do_ this? Why won't you just... What are you _afraid_of?"

"I-I don't know!" Nick pushed Greg off of him and stood. He raked his hands through his hair. "Don't you feel _weird_doing all of this?"

"No," Greg said with an unbelieving laugh. "No, I don't."

"I've known you for eleven years," Nick said, "And all of a sudden to want to know you like _that_. It's so... con_fus_ing."

Greg slumped, his hands clasped between his knees. "You really need to understand, don't you? You really need this to make sense before you can act on it?"

Nick took a deep breath. "Yes," he said apologetically.

"Well," Greg spread his hands. "I can't explain it to you... But, I can tell you how it was for me." Nick nodded and Greg went on. "It's not like you're thinking. It didn't just spring out of nothing. But... there was always something between us, Nick, before we even knew what it was. Something that... separated us. Why do you think we were never best friends? Sure, you knew Warrick long before you knew me, but... Sara and I, you and Warrick—there was something so _diffe_rent about those relationships... because we were never meant to be best friends. We were always... something different.

"There was something playful about us, wasn't there?" Greg asked, and encouraged by Nick's nod, he went on. "Like... we were experimenting the whole time, without even knowing it. And somehow we... we were comfortable, you know? Without having to say anything, or do anything, we were just comfortable around each other. And that... that set the groundwork, ya know? That's what made me think, okay, this can happen. 'Cause we have the background. And knowing that, you can't possibly say that this is something so new, something you've never felt before. What do you say, Nick? With this sorta friendship backing us up, what else could be possibly need?"

Nick was silent for a while, then: "Why now? Why did we pursue it now?"

Greg shrugged. "I dunno. We were both missing something in our lives, and I guess we're old enough to realize that sometimes love isn't exciting and new and dramatic. Sometimes it's just... there. You get that don't you?

"Yeah," Nick said. "Sure I do. You—you make it sound so simple. Like..." Nick paused, realizing, with a rush, that it _was_ that simple. There was nothing for them to do, nothing they were risking. And that's what he wanted—that risk-free, comfortable intimacy.

"Like what, Nick?" Greg asked before Nick could voice his thoughts. "You're the one who started this. _You_followed me into the locker room, _you_ touched _me_. So why'd you do that huh? Why'd _you_ pursue it?"

Nick was silent for a long time, just thinking. "You were... you, you _needed_ something, Greg, something that I didn't have. And all I could give you, all that I had was... was me, and-and you looked like you needed that. Needed... comfort. You let me give it to you too for the first time—hell, the only time. For all your talk, Greg, you're even more closed off than I am. You do know that, right?"

Greg looked embarrassed. "It's who I am," he mumbled, half-apologetically.

"I know," Nick soothed. "You've been coddled by your mother your whole life, and now you... you crave personal space. But I'm a natural comforter. It's who I am," he echoed Greg. "And you let me comfort you, Greg... and it, it made me feel useful for once."

"But why'd you come looking for me, anyway? Why'd you follow me into the locker room?"

"You said... you said you needed closure. And I wanted to give it to you."

_"Closure!" Greg said emphatically, slamming his hand onto his desk. "That's what I need! That's what he deserves. Don't you get that?"_

_"I do, Greg," Nick said, his accent thick. He reached for Greg, but the younger man pulled out of his grasp. Greg turned away, running nervous hands through his hair. "Come on, man, I didn't mean for this to happen."_

_"He doesn't even have a name," Greg said icily, turning around and jabbing Nick in the chest. "I don't even know his godforsaken name! What is he then? Lost boy? John fucking Doe? I just—" He closed his eyes. "I need you to do this for me, Nicky. If you can just do this, then it'll all be over."_

_"I want to, believe me I do," Nick sighed, frustrated and helpless. "But I can't. It wasn't my call, or Catherine's for that matter. Think like a CSI, man: the shooter was dead, the kid had no ID on him, there were no hits in CODIS or AFIS, no missing kids who fit the profile. The case was closed man. I couldn't keep it open any longer."_

_"But," Greg stumbled over his words. "If I just knew who he was... If he just had some sorta family I could talk to, apologize to... I'd..."_

_Nick moved towards Greg, eyeing him like he was a spooked animal. Gingerly, he reached out and clasped Greg's shoulder. "I know," he said soothingly. "I know. But you can't. And it's hard, I know, but it's going to be okay. Everything's going to sort itself out."_

_"So that's it," Greg choked out, hopelessness bubbling up in his chest. "It's over? We're not even going to try?"_

_"We can't," Nick let him down gently. "Not anymore."_

_Greg pulled away from Nick. He looked away, his face twisting in an angry, naked pain. He backed away hesitantly, reaching for the door behind him. "I've got to go, Nick. I-I have to... get myself together."_

_He walked out of the break room. Nick watched his progress down the hallway, head down, movement quick and stiff. He had already turned the corner into the locker room when Nick thought to follow him. Nick walked down the hallway purposefully, trying to move as slowly as he could, so he wouldn't attract unwanted attention._

_He closed the door behind him. "Greg?"_

_Greg looked up at him from the bench, eyes wide and unveiled. He looked shocked, unprepared—like he wanted to hide but couldn't._

_"Greg," Nick said again, "Oh Greg." He should have known. He should have known how much this would hurt Greg, how much he needed this. "I'm sorry."_

_He sat down next to Greg on the bench. "Everything's going to be okay, Greg."_

_"I am okay," Greg said emphatically. He wouldn't meet Nicks' gaze._

_"We'll figure everything out," Nick continued soothingly, like Greg hadn't even spoken._

_"I'm fine," Greg insisted. "I—"_

_Nick's hand closed around his mouth. "Shh," he said._

_Greg's shocked gaze flickered to his and then he turned his face away, tearing Nick's hand off his mouth. "Just leave it be, Nick."_

_"Greg," Nick stuttered out. He put his hand on Greg's thigh. "Greg, just look at me."_

_So he did._

* * *

Nick kicked his pants off. "Your turn." His voice sounded strangled and stark. A blush spread across his neck and face, and he shivered as a gust of cold, air-conditioned air swept over his mostly naked body.

For a moment, Greg just stared from his position on Nick's bed. The older man stood by the window, grey in the moonlight. He was clad only in boxers. For a long time Greg was silent, just watching. He pushed himself up on his elbows to get a better look. All tanned body and strong arms. Curves.

Greg swallowed thickly, chest hot and tight with longing. Reaching trembling hands behind his head, he grabbed the neck of his t-shirt, and pulled it over his head. For a moment, he could hardly breathe. The t-shirt was stuck over his head, and he fumbled, shaky and anxious with anticipation. After what felt like forever, he was free. He gulped in a huge breath of air.

He looked at Nick, wide-eyed, but the older man's searing gaze was on his chest. Greg's ears burned hot, and he hunched slightly, his chest forming a hollow 'C'. Nick inhaled sharply, and took a step closer, then stopped. Waited.

Greg lay back on the bed, closed his eyes. He flicked open the button of his jeans, tore down the zip-then hesitated.

"Go on."

Pressing his weight down on his head and shoulders, Greg arched off the bed and slid his jeans off. He stared up at the ceiling, then his eyes flickered to Nick's. The older man met his gaze squarely, and Greg knew Nick was waiting for him.

He got up onto his knees, and crawled to the edge of the bed. Nick followed his movements like a hawk, eyes sharp and focussed. Greg swung his legs over the side of the bed, and pressed his bare feet to the warm hardwood floor. "C'mere," he called to Nick gruffly.

Nick strode towards him, forgetting his embarrassment. He bent his head, pressed fervent lips against Greg's. Greg spread his legs, wrapping them around Nick's knees. He grabbed Nick's shoulders and pulled backwards, falling back onto the bed with the older man on top of him.

Nick laughed, stumbling, and falling between Greg's legs again. He crawled onto the bed, one knee between Greg's thighs and the other one on the outer side of Greg's leg. Greg wrapped his arms around Nick's neck and kissed him again, licking his bottom lip.

Nick opened his mouth, murmuring incoherently against Greg's lips. He slid his hand down Greg's flat sides, and all the way down to his waist. He continued down his thighs, sliding Greg's boxers down as well, but Greg pulled away.

"Not tonight," the younger man murmured, eyes full of longing, but hesitance as well. Nick nodded mutely. He could understand that.

Greg reached up again and pressed open-mouthed kisses on his collarbone. He bit down, and Nick gasped. Shocked, his hand slid out from underneath him, and he fell from his propped up position.

The breath whooshed out of Greg as Nick crushed him, but he laughed breathlessly anyway. "Easy there," he said huskily, his voice stirring something in Nick. "Get off me."

Nick sat back on his haunches with a frown. "What's wrong?" he said, too loudly.

"Shhh," Greg said, voice still low, sultry. "Nothing. Just turning off my phone."

He sat up, and reached for his jeans near the foot of the bed. He took out his phone and switched it off. Nick too, stood and retrieved his phone from his pants on the floor.

Greg tossed his clothes to the floor, and slid under the blanket. "Close the curtains, Nick."

The room was washed in darkness. Greg watched as Nick, silhouetted and ghostlike, walked over to the bed. Nick paused next to him, and ran his fingers through Greg's thin, soft hair. Deep eyes glinted up at him.

Nick crawled over Greg to get to the other side of the bed, but froze when warm fingers fluttered against his hip.

"Nick?" Greg's said hesitantly.

"Yeah," Nick rasped. Greg's hand slid to the inside of his thigh, and he let his head drop heavily to his chest.

"You have any condoms?" Greg spoke almost inaudibly, like if his voice was any louder he would break.

"Yeah," Nick cleared his throat, then tried again. "Yeah, in the drawer next to you."

He heard Greg's breath behind him, audible. "Do you want to...?"

"Yes," Nick said breathily. "Yes I do." Greg didn't respond, and Nick grew nervous. "Should I turn on the light?"

Greg shook his head. Realizing Nick wasn't even looking at him, couldn't see him in the dark anyway, he whispered. "No."

Nick turned around, finally looking at Greg's shadowy, dark figure. "Get up."

Greg rose onto his elbows, and Nick slid a hand under him, resting it on the small of his back. He reached over Greg and fumbled in the drawer before pulling out a condom and lubricant.

"How do you want to do this?" Greg asked, and Nick's throat closed up with tears. This gentle, beautiful man, _asking_ him. Oh God.

"I think I... would you mind terribly if...?" he stuttered.

"No. No, go ahead. I trust you."

"Okay."

Greg leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He felt Nick's hands at his waist, pulling down his boxers.

"You too," Greg rasped. "Even if we can't see... you too."

"Okay," Nick said softly. He pulled back, took off his boxers and tossed them to the floor. Greg's eyes were closed, and Nick smiled. "Open your eyes."

Greg's eyes fluttered open, and he looked, even though he could hardly see anything. Reaching out, he pressed felt his fingers against Nick, hot and rough. He swallowed dryly. "Okay. Let's do this."

Nick slid a pillow under his back. He heard foil tearing. Felt the cold shock of the lubricant against him. Nick's lips against his own, as he pushed slowly.

Greg wrapped his legs around Nick's waist, feeling their connection deep in his soul. He looked into Nick's eyes, felt the beauty of what they were doing. The pure, sacred intimacy. The... cleanness. There was something so sublime about this. Like the physical didn't matter. The pleasure didn't matter. This was something more.

Nick began to move gently. He felt weak with emotion. This had to last. He pressed his forehead against Greg's chest, inhaling the clean, crisp smell of Greg's soap. He felt the younger man's hands stringing through his hair. Greg hummed, and the sound echoed through his chest. Nick kept moving.

Nick rested against Greg, his movements swaying, gentle like the ocean. Greg closed his eyes, held Nick's head and allowed himself to be carried away with the tender rocking. After a while, Nick stopped moving. "Greg?" he called softly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Greg whispered. "I'm great."

Nick lifted his head and kissed Greg softly. He rested his forehead on the bed, pressing the side of his head against Greg's.

"It's enough," Greg murmured in his ear, and he nodded.

He pulled out gently, tossing the unnecessary condom onto the floor. He lay down next to Greg, and pulled the covers over them. He said nothing, couldn't think of anything to say. Something sacred was passing between them, something silent. He pressed his ear against Greg's chest, felt his breathing, felt fingers in his hair.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He felt calm, weightless, sublime. This was a pleasure that had nothing to do with physical need. Nothing to do with desire. With lust. He felt the warmth of another human being. He took a deep breath, and another. And another.

He drifted away.

* * *

_He said, kids, do you know what time it is?_  
_Well, sir, it's the first time I feel like something is mine. Like I have something to give..._


End file.
